


True Rulers

by rosssaliie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Fix-It, King Gendry, Pregnancy, Queen Arya, like an entire backstory, please be patient i haven't written in a while, theres like a huge history behind this, which i might include as a prologue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2020-04-07 11:50:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19084438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosssaliie/pseuds/rosssaliie
Summary: What if the Seven Kingdoms, for once in their whole shit history, were ruled by a just woman and an honorable man?





	1. Return of the Queen

The unbroken silver direwolf seal stared up at everyone in the small council, reminding them all of a glaring question. Queen Arya had been gone for a month, once again sailing off to discover more land. So far, she’d come across very few scattered islands, but nothing that hadn’t already been charted or written down in an ancient tome. But this time she had gone west and was due back today. But returning with news was unexpected for them all. 

King Gendry entered, looking slightly flushed from his hustle to not be late. As the men rose from the table to greet him, he cleared his throat and straightened his tunic. “Thank you, gentlemen. Uh, please,” he sputtered, gesturing for them all to sit. Even after a year of ruling, he still hadn’t gotten used to his position. He wasn’t sure he ever would. But the kingdoms were happy, and he always had Arya to confide in. “So? How are we today? Is anything about to collapse, or are there any big arrests to make?” His tone was humorous, but in the back of his mind, he knew anything was possible. It hadn’t been an easy time, learning how to deal with issues, political or economical. 

Tyrion cleared his throat, glancing at the open book in front of him. “Your Grace, Highgarden is still in debt. Lord Bronn says he’ll send payment as soon as he can, but the issue remains.”

“I believe the words he used were ‘Calm down ya bastards, you’ll get your fuckin money’,” Davos grumbled. “Or something along those lines.” He had never liked Bronn, and it didn’t help that the lord didn’t have much respect for Gendry. 

The King pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yeah, that sounds about right.” He let out a small groan before looking to Tyrion. “How much can he pay off with his food production? Is it worth the exchange?” 

Tyrion flipped forward in his book, trailing his fingers over a few different pages. “With the rate that he’s been producing these past few months… he could probably pay off nearly half. But if Samwell has heard correctly from the Citadel, we are moving into a dry season. He won’t be able to complete his payment for another… six months?” He raised his brow in Sam’s direction. 

Grand Maester Sam nodded. “More or less.” 

Gendry shook his head. “Wonderful. Well… I feel very comfortable saying I knew what needs to be done.” He sighed and looked down, catching sight of the rolled up parchment in the corner of his eye. “From Arya, I assume?” He pointed to the letter placed in front of Davos. 

The Hand passed the letter to him. “Should be, Your Grace. She’s due back this afternoon.” 

“Our deck hands will be waiting to help bring her ship in,” Quentyn Martell spoke smoothly. He was much like his Uncle Oberyn, which Tyrion had noted to him many times. “Will she be joining us for tomorrow’s meeting?”

Gendry let out a small chuckle as he cracked the seal and unrolled her letter. “I’ve never known Arya to sit out of anything just because she’s tired. As much as she might try to hide it, she does enjoy her role…” He trailed off as his eyes scanned the page in front of him. His eyebrows pulled together and he pressed his mouth into a tight line. 

Jon noticed his changed expression. “Your Grace? Is everything alright?” Jon was dressed particularly odd for a Northman, in much lighter weight clothes than he had ever worn. He’d lost the furs and large cloaks he was known for. But he was Jon Stark, thanks to Gendry, and Arya was still family. He could tell something was off. 

The king scratched his head in thought, slightly ruffling his slow-growing hair. “I think so. She… didn’t say much. That’s not like her.” Still, he shook his head. “She probably has a surprise!” he said in his most hopeful voice. He looked to Podrick at the other end of the table. “Ser, ready a few of your men. We will head down to the docks to greet the queen.” He rose, and the others followed suit. “Thank you very much, gentlemen. See you all tomorrow.” He and Podrick left the council room, the other lords slowly trailing out behind them. 

Not long after, Gendry and his entourage were watching Arya’s ship,  _ Nymeria _ , pull into the harbor. The bow had a large direwolf head carved into it, and the Stark direwolf sigil was painted on the mainsail. And the she-wolf herself, now Arya Baratheon, was dressed in her most casual attire - a long tunic top and pants laced up loosely on her hip. She had tall boots that were scuffed to hell, and her hair was half up and half down. The Dornish deck hands rushed to pull the ship flush with the dock and lower the ramp. Gendry ran to meet her, embracing her in a strong hug the second she stepped off. He spun her around with a hearty laugh. 

“I’ve missed you, my Queen!” He buried his face in her hair, breathing in the salty air and old oak smell he loved about her. He placed her back on her feet, as gentle as ever, and cradled her face in his hands. “I swear, every time your return, you’re more beautiful than the last.”

Arya rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile that crept onto her face. “I missed you, you bull.” She lifted herself onto the tips of her toes, softly capturing his lips in hers. She placed her hands on either side of his neck, holding him against her. When they eventually parted, she drew in a deep breath. “Did you get my letter?” 

He nodded and briefly kissed her forehead, as they turned to head back to the Red Keep. “Yes, and your brother was just as confused as I was when I read it. You didn’t say much, except that you had  _ news _ .” He gave her a suspicious look, hoping to meet her eyes. But she was staring up at the towers of the castle. He knew the memories she had of the place, the terror it had held for her family. She admitted to him that it was worth attempting to make new memories, though, especially since she would be with him. He had convinced his council to spend the money on remodeling the private rooms, at least, to give her a better sense of comfort in her own home. “Arya? You alright, love?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, as if in discomfort, but smiled up at her husband anyway. “Of course. Just happy to be back.” She let out a smooth breath, regaining her composure and cool, as they resumed their trek uphill. 


	2. The News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if the Seven Kingdoms, for once in their whole shit history, were ruled by a just woman and an honorable man?

Arya thanked her hand maids as they brought in the last of her trunks. She never asked them to unload her effects, as she liked the process of putting her things back where they belonged. It gave her time to think - and right now, that was all she wanted. Her month long journey had resulted in many discoveries, their value varying. She wasn’t sure what she should tell Gendry first. The changes they could pose-

A knock on the door snapped Arya from her thoughts. She set down the pair of pants she was folding, quietly walked over and opened the door. She barely got a chance to register who it was before her face was stuffed in fur and she was wrapped in a hug. She recognized the laugh, which resonated from the person’s chest. She reciprocated the hug, smiling deep into the lining of his shirt. “Jon!” she greeted, though her voice was incredibly muffled. After too long, she had to pull away so that she wouldn’t suffocate, but she closed the door behind him and leaned against it to look at him. “Gods, you look even more southern than the last time I saw you.” She was one to talk, though, wearing more dresses and thin fabric tops than she would have expected herself to.

His smile reached his eyes, and he shrugged carelessly as he looked down at himself. “I’m adapting, little wolf. Trying to enjoy my time here as much as I can.” He looked her over with careful eyes, her letter to Gendry still in the back of his mind. “Where’s your husband? I had a matter to discuss with him. We have a situation in the Reach.”

Arya scoffed and returned to her trunk of clothes. “We always have a situation in the Reach. I told Gendry when he was first elected _not_ to give Highgarden to that mercenary. But no! My _husband_ , the good hearted bastard, wanted to give him a chance. Honor the promise Lord Tyrion made to Lord Bronn. And _now_ how’s it turned out?” She was just about to continue, when she saw the amused look on her brother’s face. He was barely holding in a laugh. She gave him an embarrassed look. “He went to meet Ser Davos,” she sighed.

Jon nodded, a small smirk still on his face. “And how are you? I know you’ve gotten used to the months at sea, but…” He bit the inside of his cheek nervously. “Your letter, the last one you sent. It had Gendry worried.”

The queen was very silent. She set her last pair of trousers on one of the bottom shelves in her armoire. She let out a heavy, but smooth, breath. “Something happened… on this month’s trip. I… haven’t told Gendry yet.” She faced Jon, but still couldn’t meet his eyes. “I don’t know how to tell him. It could… change things.” She sat down next to her brother on the bed.

His brow furrowed and he took her hand in his. “Arya, what’s the matter?”

She shook her head. “I can’t tell you. Not now, and not before I tell him.” She laid her head on his shoulder. “But I will tell you. When I can.” She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head, and felt much more at ease.

That night, Arya was leaning over the table in the small council room, looking at the map she had laid out. She had added an extension on the west side of Westeros, with a rough drawing of a few new land masses. “These are what we found. A few random islands, each with civilizations. They all seemed to be receptive and friendly.” She pulled out the chair nearest to her and sat down, fidgeting in her spot. “We should get the cartographer to do a proper rendering.”

Gendry meandered around, ending up behind her seat and resting on it. “Quentyn,” he said, “be sure the cartographer has these references. Get the correct distances from the captain, have them work together.” He pulled a few pieces of parchment and handed them to Davos. “Send word to Queen Sansa and Queen Yara. Ask if they’d be willing to come down in time for our political counsel meeting to discuss.”

“Do you think we should notify the other lords and ladies?” Arya craned her head to look above her. “They might appreciate an advanced notice.”

He shrugged and gave her a confused look. “They’ll find out when we meet next.”

“Yes, but how’s it going to look if we sent word to other kingdoms first, rather than the lords and ladies of our own?” There was a beat of silence, so she handed Davos more parchment. “Send the letters.”

Gendry let out a small laugh, but nodded to their hand. “I’d also like to invite Lady Tarly, Grand Maester. I have matters I’d like to discuss.”

Sam was taken aback, his mouth hanging open. “O-Of course, Your Grace. She would be honored, I’m sure. E-Especially to meet a Baratheon.” He smiled kindly, nearly shaking with excitement.

“Wonderful.” Gendry placed a hand on Arya’s shoulder. “Is there anything else, darling?”

Arya placed her hand over his. “No. But I do have some private matters to discuss with you.” She laced their fingers together, and with her other hand, gestured for the other lords to leave. Jon kissed her head and shook Gendry’s hand before departing, while Davos patted the king on the back. Prince Martell rolled up the maps and gave his king and queen a short nod. Once the room was empty, he sat down next to her.

“Okay. What are these private matters?” he asked with a smile. He tried not to show how nervous he was about what she might say, but he was never as good at hiding his emotions as she was. He kept their hands locked together and held her gaze. “Come on, you know you can tell me.”

“I know, I know!” She chewed on her lip and played with Gendry’s hand. “Look, I’m going to tell you something very important. No one else knows, not even the ship’s crew. Not even Jon.”

This make Gendry sit back in his chair. He knew Arya shared nearly everything with Jon, now that they had the time to spend together. “Okay. Is it bad? Was there a danger on one of the islands?”

She hid her face in her hands, groaning in frustration. “No! It doesn’t have anything to do with the islands!” She hated this feeling - weakness, embarrassment, fear, whatever it was. She had killed people, fought in wars, _ended_ wars. She’d trained to be an assassin, she’d wiped out houses. But now she was a queen. Now, she had no need to kill or spy. The change in her felt almost too drastic to comprehend. “I told you, when you proposed, that I had no intention of being a lady. I still don’t, do you understand that?” When he responded with a nod, she gripped his hands tightly once again. “This doesn’t change anything, alright, you bull?”

“Dear Gods, Arya, just tell me!”

“I’m with child.”

The room went dead silent. The dropping of a sewing needle would have been the loudest noise for several moments. The two just stared at each other, Gendry’s expression blank and Arya’s apprehensive. Her hands were sweating. Or were those his? She couldn’t tell, they’d been joined for so long. But then, in the blink of an eye, his fingers were knotting themselves in her hair, and he was smiling into a kiss.


	3. Succession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if the Seven Kingdoms, for once in their whole shit history, were ruled by a just woman and an honorable man?

The king and queen were sitting in the throne room, each in their own chair. Even before Gendry was elected, he found the sight of the Iron Throne ghastly. Arya herself had never cared for it, more for her enemies who had previously sat there. And so, after very little discussion, they had asked Daenerys if she would destroy it. She was more than willing, as was Drogon. They designed their new seats themselves, neither bigger or more ornate than the other. From the start of their marriage, it was always a shared rule. The smallfolk were slow to adjust, but once they witnessed the power the two had together, there were no more questions. 

Now, less than 10 hours after revealing her pregnancy to Gendry, the queen was focusing all her energy on the issues of the smallfolk. It was a day for them to present their problems and seek help, which Arya could not have been more grateful for. “Sir, please come forward,” she called to the next man in line. “Please, speak.” 

Gendry wanted to listen. The smallfolk were a huge priority of his, considering he’d been one of them for the first 23 years of his life. But the elderly man in front of him was quickly tuned out. His mind was drawn to his conversation with Arya last night. They hadn’t talked about having kids, not that he never considered it. But now it was real, which make him happy. Still, he couldn’t help but feel that Arya wasn’t excited. And if she wasn’t, what would she ask of Maester Sam? What would she do to herself, and to their unborn child inside her?

“You’re Grace?” her voice gently called. 

Gendry looked over to her, and then to the man in front of them. “Ahem, well… what do you think, my queen?” 

Arya gave him a small smile and looked back to the man. “Sir, we will send two men from the city guard to help you reinforce you fences. They will assist you for the next week. Is that alright?” When the man nodded, Arya rose from her seat. “Thank you everyone, but we must take our leave. You may speak again in a fortnight.” 

Gendry stood as well, nodding in agreement. “Yes, thank you all.” The guards escorted everyone out of the throne room and shut the doors behind them. He offered his hand to Arya, beginning his way down the steps. “Samwell is waiting for us in his surgery. We need to inform him of the child.” He watched, though, as the queen refused his assistance, and stomped her way down the stairs.

“I don’t want to go down there. It stinks to all the Seven Hells, and I’m sick enough as it is.” She quickly combed her fingers through the half of her hair that was down. The other half was intricately braided. She might not have been a fan of the dresses of a typical lady, but she had no problem letting her hand maids teach her fancy twists. They kept her wild locks out of her eyes all the same. “Besides, I’d like to tell Jon before I tell a maester. He’s my family, as much as you are, and I’d like to let him know.” 

“Let him know what?” The clear, strong voice of Jon rang out through the throne room. He was standing in the back entrance. 

Arya smiled and started to run towards him, but stopped after the first few steps. “It’s good to see you again, Jon.” She grabbed his arm and dragged him in Gendry’s direction. “We were just discussing the upcoming meeting. Sansa and Yara will be coming, so I was proposing the idea of them getting married.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “What do you think?” 

Her brother let out a slightly condescending laugh. “Arya, they would have to change their laws. They may be independent, but their people are still nervous to change. It’ll take a few years before ladies are allowed to marry each other anywhere. At least in Westeros.” He shook Gendry’s hand and gave a quick bow. They were family, so most formalities were excused.

Arya folded her arms. “Well, maybe we’ll start changing them. Sooner, rather than later.” 

The king put his hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Arya. Tell him.” His voice was soft. He didn’t want to push her, not in her state. But he knew keeping it from Jon too long would only make things worse. 

Jon looked between them. “What’s wrong?” His eyes landed on his sister. “Arya?”

The lady shot an angry glare at her husband, and slammed her foot on top of his. The heel of her boots crushed his smaller toes, cracking the joints. “Thanks a lot.” She straightened her bodice, which was now looser than she normally had it. “You’d better not be angry with me.” Her voice was threatening, but it hid a shyness that not many got to see. 

Jon shook his head. “Why would I be angry?” 

She took a deep breath, passing one final look to Gendry. “Because… I’m carrying Gendry’s child.” Her eyes were steel daggers on her brother’s face; waiting, watching to see how he would react. 

Gendry himself, on the other hand, wore a completely bewildered look. He may be the king, but Jon was Arya’s older brother. There was an automatic protection, and for Gendry, danger. 

The Northman broke into a grin, and kissed Arya’s cheek. “I’m very happy for you.” Almost immediately after, he slung an arm around Gendry’s shoulders, pulling him in tightly. He leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching. “If anything happens to my sister while she carries that child, I will lob your cock off so fast, you won’t even know it’s gone.” 

Arya scoffed and pulled the two apart. “Oh, please, I’m going to be fine. Sam is the best maester we could hope for. Besides, compared to everything else… how hard could being pregnant be?”

Just then, the creaking of the main doors cut the silence. “You’re pregnant?”

The trio turned.

It was Sansa. Standing in the open doors, wearing a dark blue gown, embroidered with a direwolf across the chest, weirwood leaves along the hem, and snowflakes down the sleeves. She wore her silver crown atop her straight red hair. She was a vision to behold, as always. She drifted across the floor, Ser Brienne appearing behind her, quickly meeting her siblings and the king near the other end of the room. “You’re pregnant,” she directed to Arya again, this time not a question. She was smiling, but trying to hide it by biting her lip. Sansa, while still sharp of mind, had gotten back some of the excitable, young girl she used to be. Arya knew it was taking a lot for her not to immediately start suggesting names. 

The queen raised her eyebrows at her husband. “My dear, I think we need thicker doors.” The girls bowed to each other, in respect of their own kingdoms, and quickly hugged. They all made their way to the royal dining room for supper, updating each other on their lives. Sansa and Yara had arranged trade deals between the North and the Iron Islands, moving through the proper channels to hopefully unite both kingdoms. The two had met at the council meeting after the taking of Kings Landing, and as queens of independent kingdoms, thought it would be good to keep in touch. Arya wasn’t surprised when she heard they were together. 

“I knew there was something there!” Arya bellowed. “Any time you mentioned her, it got more and more romantic. You can’t fool me, sister.” She took a sip of ale, passing a smirk to Sansa. 

The Northern queen couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not my fault you use those wild assassin skills as an advantage,” she quipped back. For a moment, the three Stark could almost feel like it was one of their family dinners; the kind Ned and Catelyn would make jokes at, and where Bran and Arya would pretend to duel with their knives. But as much as any of them wished they could have one of those again, Sansa was usually the realist. She dabbed her lips clean with the cloth, and lowered her eyes to her lap, trying to hide the sadness in them. “So… do you know what will happen after the child is born?” She flicked her gaze up to Gendry. “Regarding the succession?” She sat up straighter and placed her hands on the table. “You have thought about that, right?” 

Jon put his hands up a bit, already knowing the storm that could brew. “Maybe we should stay out of it, Sansa. They probably want to discuss it on their own.” His voice was level and calming. He was good at mediating, which make him excellent as Master of Laws. 

Gendry sighed uncomfortably. “Well, we only found out last night. It hadn’t crossed my mind.” He suddenly took Arya’s hand in his, under the table, squeezing it. He told himself he was doing it to comfort her, but it was definitely more for his own sake. “I think we wanted to wait until we could discuss it with the small council.” 

Arya scrunched her forehead. “We should keep the election method. Changing so quickly would be unfair to other houses, unfair to others who could rule better.” She pulled her hand from his. “We can’t betray their trust.” She speared a piece of pigeon with her fork and ate it swiftly. Even at dinner, she followed Syrio’s lessons. 

Hurt crossed Gendry’s eyes. He and Arya had their disagreements at times, but somehow this felt different. More raw. “Well, I think it’s worth discussing with the small council before we make any final decisions.” He leaned back in his chair and smiled at his sibling-in-laws, hoping it would ease the tension. 

The queen rolled her eyes at her husband. Without another word, Arya slid back from the table and headed for her chambers. 

Sansa huffed. She felt guilty for even bringing it up, and more so that it had upset her sister. “I should go check on her.” She got up from her chair and rounded to Gendry’s side of the table, giving him a pitiful look. “You, of all people, know she doesn’t take kindly to being told what to do.” She kissed her brothers cheek and briskly followed after Arya. 

Jon pressed his lips into a thin line and shrugged. “She’s right. And you know it,” he grumbled, sipping his wine. “Just apologize and talk about it together, alone. She’s more likely to listen to you, then.” He patted his shoulder, hoping it was at least somewhat comforting. 

The king let his head fall into his hands, releasing a frustrated moan as he did so. He knew his queen make a point, and he couldn’t argue that keeping the election system was better than bloodline succession. But something in the back of Gendry’s mind - or maybe in the back of his heart - didn’t want to give up the chance the child would have at ruling. He looked in the direction Arya had left. Quickly, he called in the squires and maids, thanked Jon for joining them, and excused himself to bed. Thinking on it, running to the royal chambers was the fastest he’d ever moved. He stood at his own bedroom door in no time, opening it as quietly as he could. He saw that his wife was already in her sleeping gown, all candles snuffed, and asleep. 

He changed into a long, torn up tunic and slid under the blanket next to her. His chest felt tight, and as he looked down at her sleeping face, he remembered exactly why he asked her to marry him in the first place. He leaned down and kissed her temple. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, so quietly, he wasn’t sure she would be able to hear him, even with his lips grazing her ear. He settled into the downy and closed his eyes. As he felt himself drifting off, a small pair of lips pressed themselves onto his cheek. 


	4. Needle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if the Seven Kingdoms, for once in their whole shit history, were ruled by a just woman and an honorable man?

Gendry woke with a start in the dead of night. Sweat coated his face, and he was shivering. It wasn’t uncommon for him to get nightmares from the battle at Winterfell. Jon had told him to be prepared for them, but he never realized they would be so persistent. He pinched the bridge of his nose and turned his head to look at Arya. But his heart stopped when he saw she wasn’t there. Her side of their shared blanket was flipped away, and he could see that her night shoes were missing from under her vanity stool. He left the bed and went around to the other side, also noticing that Needle was gone from its usual spot. He sighed. He should have expected this, and he felt stupid for not. After a short walk, he was in the courtyard, watching Arya practice her water dancing in her night clothes. It had been a few days since she’d told him about her pregnancy, and they still hadn’t fully solved the issue of succession. Arya’s emotions were harder for him to read. But he could imagine it was a confusing change for her to cope with, and it would only get more difficult. 

With one swipe of her sword, Arya was just as nimble and swift as she’d ever been. But when she twirled, a wave of nausea hit, and she stumbled on her way out of the turn. She placed a hand on her belly, balancing herself on a pillar. 

Gendry moved to help her, but caught himself as he watched her. She was taking deep breaths, steeling herself against the curdling in her stomach. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched her, this only one of many examples of her strength. 

He must’ve breathed too heavy or stepped on a loose tile, because Arya’s head flitted up and turned in his direction. She managed a smile and forced herself to not look like she was about to lose her dinner. “What’re you doing out of bed? You know Ser Davos would ream you for not getting enough sleep.” She straightened her back as Gendry made his way over to her. 

“I could say the same to you. Sansa would probably be furious to hear that her pregnant sister was practicing water dancing.” She gaped, but no words came out. He smirked at her with raised eyebrows, knowing he had her caught. At the roll of his wife’s eyes, he pulled her close to him. “I know you’ll probably hurt me for saying this-”

“Then don’t say it!”

“But… maybe, for the duration of your pregnancy… you shouldn’t practice with Needle.” He eyed the little sword with some amount of caution, perhaps watching to see if she would swing it at him. Instead, her face just scrunched itself into a look of disgust, offense, and possibly betrayal. “Look, I-”

“No, don’t.” She threw the sword aside, the metal clattering on the floor. “How can you ask that of me? You told me, when you asked me to be your queen, that I wouldn’t have to change.” She pointed a finger in his face and moved towards him, backing him into a pillar. “Don’t you _dare_ try to make me change into a proper lady just because you put this _thing_ in me!” Her voice echoed against the stone walls, bouncing her fury back at her. Neither of them spoke as they took in her words. She thought about taking it back. She knew she should have, really, but her stubbornness got in the way, as it tended to. 

Gendry’s bottom lip trembled slightly, but the second he felt it, he bit down. They rarely fought, and even if they did, it was nothing like this. “Well, if you hate it so much, I’m sure Sam could get rid of it. Don’t go through with it just for me.” He ran a hand over his face. “Look, you know I love that you’ve never been a proper lady. But _if_ you want this baby… you can’t be training with swords or getting into any rough situations.” He put a hand up to her face, only for her to slap it away. 

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Subconsciously, her fingers slipped under her shirt and stroked her stomach. It had been a while since Arya had cried in front of Gendry, the only other time being the night before their wedding. Still, her eyes inadvertently sprung their own leaks. She could feel the hot tears stream down her cheeks, but she was still looking at the floor, like it was the most important thing in the world. And then her head started trembling. No, shaking. She was shaking her head, she realized, as she finally looked up at her husband. “I don’t know if I can do this. It’s only been a month, and I’m already questioning if I can be a mother. Gendry, how _stupid_ does that make me?” Arya rocked back on her heels a bit, wiping the tears from her face and trying to turn around. 

He grabbed her shoulder as gently as he could. “Arya, darling, listen to me.” He brought her over to the stone bench at the edge of the room, and sat her down. Gendry held her hands as he knelt down, keeping his eyes on her face. “Arya Baratheon. _Lady_ Baratheon. My _Queen_. The last thing you could ever be is stupid.” He used his thumb to carefully banish the remaining tears from her eyes. “You are smart, and strong, and the most dangerous woman I’ve ever met. And I couldn’t be more in love with you.” His hand went to her hip, fingers grazing her stomach. “If this is something you want, then I’ll help you however you need. You know I will.” 

These words only caused her to cry more. Her body wracked with sobs, she leaned forward and kissed Gendry. When she pulled away, she used her sleeve to dry her face once more. “Will you take me to bed?” she asked, her voice almost cracking. 

Gendry held back a laugh and nodded. “Of course, my darling.” He snatched Needle from the ground, and together, they left for their chambers. 

The castle was alive with the chatter of the servants and staff that came with the members of the political council. They were all being directed by Arya and Gendry’s lead servant, telling them which member went to which chamber. Political council meetings always created a fuss, but it was usually nothing the pair couldn’t handle. Usually. 

“I swear this dress fit two weeks ago. I can’t be getting big that quickly,” Arya complained, as she pulled off one of her few dresses. Political council meetings were one of the few exceptions Arya make to her personal no dress rule. “I mean, I barely think I’ve grown.” 

Gendry himself had been dressed for the last half hour, and was now leaning against the door, smiling and watching as his wife fumbled with the fabric. “Not at all, of course not!” He made his way over to her wardrobe, rifling through her tops and pants. “Maybe you should just wear what you normally do.” 

She groaned and shook her head, readjusting her undergarments. “It’s important that I look nice for the other members! I am their queen, after all.” She grabbed another dress, watching as the layers fell from her hands. She stared down at them on the floor for a moment, then said, “I think I should call Erys for help. She’s better at dressing me than I am.” Still in her under clothes, the Queen opened her bedroom door wide. The heavy door made a loud _creak_ and drew the attention of everyone in the hall. “Erys? Could you come help me, please?” she shouted. There was the sound of running footsteps, and suddenly a shocked, young maid appeared in front of her. 

“My lady,” the girl said, curtseying and averting her eyes. She quickly moved into the room, closing the door behind her. “Apologies for running late, my lady. You shouldn’t have had to reveal yourself to everyone in the corridor. 

Arya simply shrugged and picked up the gown. “It’s not like they can shame me.” She handed the garment to Erys. “Help me dress, please? We’re running late as it is.” She turned to look at her husband, who was sitting back on the bed in amazement. “Not a word from you, ser,” she scolded, raising a finger at him. 

He obeyed, and within a few minutes, Erys had dressed the Queen almost entirely. As she was finishing with lacing up the back, Gendry stood and dismissed her. “I’ll finish her up, thank you Erys.” One skill he had fortunately picked up in his time with Arya was how to properly lace her clothing. It came in handy if they happened to shag somewhere in the castle and needed to look presentable. He tied the ends into a neat bow and tucked them into the back. Before she could step away, however, Gendry placed a kiss on the side of her neck, trailing his lips down to her shoulder. “You look lovely, you know.” 

Arya chuckled and turned herself around in his arms, staying close to his body. “You only like me this way because it’s easier for you to get your prick up.” Nevertheless, she took his face in her hands and kissed him deeply. When she tugged his hair, he moaned and she pulled away, smirking devilishly. “Come, dear. We have people waiting.” She slipped out of his grasp and, just before leaving the room, rolled her shoulders back and held her head high. With that, she made her way out to the council meeting. 

Gendry was left standing in their room, exasperated and smiling after his love, not too far behind her after gathering himself. 

A leader from each of the Seven Kingdoms was present. Sansa and Yara were there too, per Arya and Gendry’s request, as well as Talla Tarly. They all had a seat at the beautifully crafted round table,  with Arya and Gendry seated next to each other. As everyone settled down, and tried ever so subtly to eye the map in the centre of the table, Gendry stood. 

“Lords and ladies, thank you for coming. As always, it’s a pleasure to have you.” He gestured to the three women who were new to the table. “Please welcome Queen Sansa, from the North. Queen Yara, from the Iron Islands. And Lady Tarly, from Hornhill.” He spared a glance at Bronn, who looked tense in his chair. “We’ve asked them to join us for this meeting, as Queen Arya has… quite pertinent information to share with us.” He sat down and kissed Arya’s hand as she stood. 

“Friends,” she started, “as you may know, I venture out with a sailing crew every other month. We search for new land, primarily, and on our last voyage… we happened upon a few undiscovered islands.” The lords and ladies whispered a bit amongst themselves, all craning their necks to see the extended map that was in progress. “Well, undiscovered to us, at least. Each island had civilizations, friendly communities. They were receptive to us, which is a good sign.” She pulled the map closer to her and gestured to the largest island that had been added. “The people here were particularly welcoming. We told them we had no plans to conquer or rule them, which is something King Gendry and I discussed. We don’t want to provoke anyone or force them into the Seven Kingdoms.” 

At that, Bronn scoffed. He earned a glare from Podrick, who was stationed behind the Queen. “‘Ey, no one ever got anywhere with their enemies by bein’ nice, and you know it!” he shouted. 

Arya raised her eyebrows slightly. In her most poised and professional voice, she replied, “These people are not our enemies. We do, however, wish to strike trade deals with them. Give them what they might need. Things they may not have on their own islands.” She sat back down, folding her hands in her lap. “Most of that will be food, my lord, something Highgarden will play a key part in.” She gave him a small, bitter smile. 

Tyrion’s mouth fell open slightly, his mind racing with questions. “Your Majesty?” he piped up. “Forgive me, but Highgarden is in quite some debt. We had begun discussing an exchange of food for gold, did we not?” 

Gendry shrugged nonchalantly. “Perhaps. But I’ve devised a new solution.” He gestured to Davos, who was standing at his right side, and took the parchment he was handed. “This,” he said, unrolling the paper, “is a formal decree, removing your house from Highgarden and, in turn, officially making House Tarly the lords of the Reach.” With a quick swipe of a quill, Gendry and Arya both signed the document, and passed it to Bronn. 

Talla let out a small gasp, but covered her mouth as fast as she could. 

Bronn, however, fumed with rage. “ _I_ was promised Highgarden! It’s _mine_ to have!” He slammed the paper down on the table and pushed it away from him. 

“I’m sorry to tell you, ser, but the promise was made by a dead man. A dead man’s words cannot constitute a binding contract,” Arya said, still keeping her voice level. She knew that, for this to go the way she and Gendry wanted it, she couldn’t threaten him. No matter how much she wanted to. 

Gendry held her hand, her grip like a vice. He knew she’d explode sooner or later if Bronn pushed, so letting her squeeze his hand was a small price to pay for the turnover to go smoothly. “Please, ser, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.” She dug her nails into Gendry’s skin, putting on a tight lipped smile. “Ser Podrick, would you please excuse Ser Bronn from the room? Ensure that he makes it back to his quarters alright.” She waved him away, ignoring the protests and curses he threw their way. She turned her attention to Lady Tarly, her face and body now relaxed. “Now then, Lady Tarly, the last thing my husband and I want to do is ask you to give up your family home.” 

Before Arya could continue, Talla shook her head and put a hand up. “My Queen, please! It would be House Tarly’s _honor_ to rule the Reach in the name of House Baratheon,” she said sweetly. Her curly brown hair was twisted into ringlets around her face. She wore a dress that fit her marvellously, decorated with her house colors and a few scattered arrows. 

“Wonderful,” Gendry replied. “Now that that’s out of the way, Queen Arya and I would like to announce her pregnancy.” He said it very simply, as if there was almost nothing to it. 

The reaction of the other lords and ladies proved otherwise.

  



End file.
